


Aromantic Omens (Drabble Collection)

by teatales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Relationship, Asexuality, Drabble Collection, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Nonbinary Character, Other, Platonic Relationships, Wordcount: 100-1.000, in most of the chapters, per chapter I mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatales/pseuds/teatales
Summary: All sorts of drabbles exploring aro identity, relationships, or simply featuring aro Aziraphale and/or Crowley!Most chapters are inspired by this prompt list: https://ineffable-anathema.tumblr.com/post/187520899461/drabble-list-2Open to requests. Descriptions/warnings listed in chapter notes.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34
Collections: Asexual Good Omens, Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	1. That's how the story goes

**Author's Note:**

> There's not enough aro content in any fandom, including Good Omens, and I am determined to change that. Honestly, life is getting me down lately so I'm trying to channel those feelings into something productive. Enjoy. 
> 
> Also, I'm working on all those other fics I said, just sometimes plot is so hard. I'm still recovering from NaNoWriMo and I started a new job, so I'm hoping this will help (because I'm not trying as hard lol)
> 
> Happy reading!

It had the makings of a fairytale, or an epic love story. Hereditary enemies on separate sides. Working for opposite forces. Banished from interacting. But that undeniable attraction of something drew them in, drew them together. Binary stars spinning in close orbit. 

Six thousand years. Of favours and trades and a slow but surely developing friendship. They overcame the instructed sense of right and wrong, good and bad, and forged their own paths. 

Enemies turned to colleagues and acquaintances. Time wore down the invisible but always present borders between them, like shells constantly tossed in the swell of the ocean. I can do _this_ , but not _that_. Here is what I will say, here is what I am actually saying. Countless centuries and endless places eroded the lines they were unwilling to cross. Hard stones turned to sand. 

The sand trickled down the hourglass slow and steady until it came to light. A war, _the_ war. They were thrown off kilter, hurtling around and around, not knowing where or when it was safe to land. They did what they always did, the only thing they really knew how to do with any degree of success. They went forward, together. 

There was a child. There was a home. There was a garden and life and the thwarting of wiles. Miracles and midnight progress meetings. It was mostly peaceful, as peaceful as the chaos of life can get, for almost eleven years. It was like a glimpse into a reality that maybe they could one day share. 

Except it was the wrong child. 

Again they were sent off spinning, running, sprinting into an uncertain future. There was an undeniable sense of desperation and doom in the air. They had to save the world. They _had_ to. The people and places and all of their memories and all of their chances to be together and to be safe rested on a flaming sword's edge. 

And they did. 

It all came together, somehow. It wasn’t smooth or easy but it did and they saved the day. They stopped the war. Things returned to a balance and to normal. Or at least, the only normal they had ever known. 

They couldn’t breathe just yet. Prophecies and predictions came true and they had find the solution to the puzzle, the key to the lock. They went into the unknown together and this time, not only did they save themselves, but they saved each other. 

Fire and water and defiance, triumph, victory. How poetic, it all was. 

_They won._

They finally had the freedom that was supposedly granted by an alliance with each of their former sides. Freedom to do what they want, say what they want. Go wherever whenever and do it all together. As part of a pair. The only constant in either of their lives was each other. Highs and lows, feast or famine. 

They dined at The Ritz, of course. Why wouldn’t they? A dinner that seemed to extend to a dozen courses at least, eaten with plenty of the finest alcohol. They toasted to the world and to each other and laughed, heads thrown back and eyes crinkled with joy.

There was no proposal. No dozen roses, no dramatic declarations. They had always known. This is my person, the one I will share eternity with. Love was too small a label to encompass that. What was four letters in the face of forever? 

That’s how the story goes. The universe began with a bang. It was saved and spun on with the quiet bubble of champagne and conversation between an angel and a demon.

Or, more accurately - a meal shared between friends. The first of their new chapter. The first of countless more. 


	2. Are you serious?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly and Aziraphale discuss romantic love in the interlude between the sword being given away and Eve giving birth.

“Are you serious?” Crawly demanded. 

“That’s what the instruction manual said, yes,” Aziraphale replied nervously. He was still getting used to this corporation thing and he hadn’t had much conversation with his fellow angels, let alone a _demon._ And he knew he shouldn’t be doing this but, well, he had already given his sword away. 

“Rrromance,” Crawly swirled the word around in his mouth. “What’s it like? Feels good, I suppose.” 

Aziraphale gave a disgusted look. “I’m an _angel,_ I know how it feels as much as you do. We’re built to love all of Her creations equally. Not in… interpersonal relationships.” 

Crawly settled back against the sun-soaked bricks of the wall. After the whole sword incident Aziraphale and the other angels were simply told to _wait_ , for who knows how long. Something would happen with Adam and Eve, apparently, but nobody was quite sure what. Aziraphale hoped they would be alright. As a result he and Crawly had been spending an awful lot of time together. Somehow, they just kept bumping into each other. (Or rather, the demon kept seeking him out). Aziraphale couldn’t abandon his post, after all. 

“Well since, y’know, the whole,” at this Crawly whistled a descending note and slowly pointed his finger downwards, “I don’t know anything about the l-word. Come on, angel, tell me what you know. You can’t blame me for curiosity, can you?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say just where that curious could lead one but then thought better of it. He was already so alone so much of the time, he didn’t want to lose the only person he could talk to.

“Alright, I suppose I can tell you - only to educate you, of course,” Aziraphale added, mostly for his own benefit. He had to justify this interaction someone. “Romantic love is mean to be… more intense, I suppose. A desire to be close to someone, most often one other person, and commit to them. Preferably in marriage.” 

Crawly thought for a moment then blinked his yellow eyes. “So it’s… more than the regular kind?”

“No, not at all!” Aziraphale said. “I think it’s just… different.”

“Different,” Crawly replied dryly with a smug look on his face. “You know as much as me then, angel.” 

Aziraphale glared at him. That may be so, but he didn’t have to go around _announcing_ it like that. His brief anger fizzled out. “Quite,” he said, and looked away. 

Crawly sauntered a little closer. They were a short distance apart, both surveying the wilderness below. “It seems very much a human thing, doesn’t it? Shorter life spans, gotta get your kicks where you can.” 

“Kicks,” Aziraphale mouthed to himself. He didn’t know what that had to do with anything at all. 

“Anyway, angel, I have something to show you. Have you tried the ‘grapes’ yet?”


	3. You're safe now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A non-binary person finds sanctuary in the bookshop. 
> 
> cw: implied homophobia/transphobia

It wasn’t uncommon, of course. An upset kid (or teenager, or adult) running away from something, not knowing where they were headed. Suddenly a bookshop appeared. Bookshops were universally safe, right? _And_ it was miraculously open and something indescribable drew them from the street and into the warm interior. 

It happened less these days, thank goodness. That didn’t mean things were necessarily better for everyone, but progress was progress. Small mercies.   


Aziraphale and Crowley were in the back, discussing something ridiculous. The angel thought he was done for the day - he successfully hadn’t sold a single item when they ran in. 

Alex shoved open the door of the shop, flinching when the bell above it chimed out, and retreated away from the windows. They could hear snippets of a conversation happening somewhere but couldn’t focus on that now. For the moment, they had to try and get their breath back and their feet under them. 

There - just tucked behind a shelf - a cozy armchair. Must be one of those vintage-y shops, then. They collapsed into it, long hair falling back as they tipped their head towards the ceiling. 

Crowley paused where she was topping up Aziraphale’s mug. They had both heard the door slam but had to determine how urgent it was. Crowley could smell - taste - fear coming off whoever they were and Aziraphale, well. He just had a sense for that sort of thing. 

The pair rose without speaking and made their way towards the front of the shop. Aziraphale was slightly in front - it was his shop, after all, and the aisles weren’t that wide. It was only a moment before their collective gaze fell upon them. 

Alex startled. They hadn’t heard the pair approach and they were still on edge from before. They leapt up clumsily on shaky legs and backed away. They knew they shouldn’t have come in here. Or at least, they shouldn’t have been so careless. Just relaxing like that in a strange place. That wouldn’t protect them. 

“Ssh, you’re safe, now,” said the one with white hair. Alex didn’t believe that for a second. It was always the people who said they would be safe, the people who were  _ supposed  _ to keep them safe that betrayed them. 

The other figure had been lurking slightly in the shadows but moved forward a fraction to fall into the light. They had long hair, too, and sunglasses (which was a bit strange indoors and all) and were wearing black dungarees. The front glimmered with round badges that Alex could suddenly make out. “She/her” on the left next to a genderfluid pride flag, next to an aromantic pride flag. Oh. 

Alex looked back to the white haired person who was now smiling softly. They just noticed the pins on their coat. An agender pride flag, an aromantic pride flag, and “he/him” in a similar green colour which tied them all together. 

Alex looked between them both, slightly bewildered. They let out the breath they hadn’t realised they had been holding and felt their heart begin to slow down. Maybe they were safe, after all. 


	4. That was kind of hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the wall-slam. Can be read as aro allo Crowley and/or Aziraphale, or maybe they're ace and just want to bone.
> 
> cw: implicit discussion of sexual attraction, sexual humour (one joke)

They wandered out of the former Satanic convent into the sunshine and entered the Bentley. They were both lost in thought for a few moments as Crowley pulled onto the main road. Freddie Mercury’s crooning filled the car. 

“That was kind of hot, angel,” Crowley announced abruptly. 

Aziraphale stared at him. “Whatever are you talking about?” 

“You know, back there,” Crowley waved a hand around. “The wall slam and the man-handling - well, person-handling, whatever. Y’know?”

Silence. 

Crowley cleared his throat and went to take back his foolish words when Aziraphale spoke up again. 

“ _Hot,_ you say?” he asked, still incredulous. Crowley shrugged, unsure as to the angel’s reaction. “I, well, I never. I never thought, well, I never dare supposed…” he began, utterly bewildered. “I never pegged you for that sort, Crowley.”

The tires of the car squealed as Crowley made a sharp turn, throwing Aziraphale back against his seat. “You’ve never pegged me at all,” Crowley muttered. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. Crowley turned to look at him, eyebrows raised high above his glasses. 

“What? ‘S’only true. Thought you liked honesty.” 

“I _do,_ it’s only,” Aziraphale averted his gaze again. There was a deepening blush across the apple’s of his cheeks. “I wish we weren’t having this conversation in the middle of you driving. It’s not at all the environment for this sort of discussion.” 

Crowley slammed on the breaks. He grinned as Aziraphale noticed where they had pulled up. “You’re in luck.” 


	5. My head hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a hangover. Aziraphale helps. 
> 
> cw: alcohol

Crowley made a truly pitiful noise from where he was sprawled on Aziraphale’s sofa. The drinks had seemed like such a good idea at the time - whatever the time had been. It all got a bit fuzzy after the second bottle had been opened and Satan, was that the remnants of tequila lurking in his mouth? It did seem like something furry had up and died in there, at least. Could be anything though. Crowley didn’t remember.

Aziraphale was bustling about at what he thought was a quiet level of sound. He had sensibly drained his corporation of alcohol before he put Crowley to bed. One of them had to be responsible some of the time. Alcohol seemed to affect Crowley more although Aziraphale knew better than to mention it. Whether it was because he was smaller, or a demon, or liked to sleep and his body got wearier more easily, the angel had no idea. But here they were.

Aziraphale was not, in fact, being as quiet as he thought he was. 

Crowley groaned again and shifted to try to hide from the ever-lightening room. It felt like his body was made out of cement, he couldn't even lift his fingers to perform a miracle. 

Aziraphale wandered back into the seating area and looked at the demon, his hands on his hips as he considered what to do. He couldn’t miracle the alcohol out of Crowley. They had tried that before and, well. It tended to be removed so fast it felt like you had been launched off the end of a roller-coaster. Very unpleasant. Only to be used in emergencies. (This was not, in fact, an emergency, no matter how much Crowley would say he felt like he was "dying".) Aziraphale sighed, resigned to spending the rest of the morning away from Crowley until he sobered up. 

“Aaaaangell, is tha’ ‘ou?” Crowley murmured. 

“Yes, it’s me,” Aziraphale said from the doorway. 

“Mm head hurts, angel. Help?” 

Aziraphale wandered further in to the room and looked down at Crowley. His hair was messily strewn about the pillow, trousers hung low on his hips and he somehow had only half a sock on. Usually he didn’t even _wear_ socks but without shoes the “safety hazard of a floor” of the bookshop was too risky even for him to walk on. His jacket was crumpled on the floor nearby and one arm was thrown over his face. He looked… vulnerable, almost. Soft. 

The angel delicately shifted Crowley’s forearm out of the way to place a warm, thick hand over his head. He concentrated for a moment then nodded to himself as Crowley’s pounding headache disappeared. 

Crowley let out a sigh of relief as the pain evaporated. He still felt disgusting - a night and morning of heavy drinking would do that to you - but he felt better. 

He latched on to Aziraphale as he went to pull his hand away and tugged the angel off balance. Aziraphale landed haphazardly on top of Crowley on top of the sofa. 

“Really, my dear?” he asked, exasperated. 

Crowley shifted to get more comfortable, long limbs now thrown about the angel. He pressed closer still, seeking out the angel’s heat like, well, a snake. 

“Wan’ cuddles,” Crowley said into Aziraphale’s neck. 

The angel pretended to be put out about this, although he was incredibly charmed by Crowley’s forthrightness (something to be said about liquid courage, hmm?). “Very well,” he replied, and brought his own arms up to hold Crowley. The shelving could always be done later.


	6. I immediately regret this decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale (reluctantly) and Crowley (enthusiastically) attend Adam's birthday party. Anathema puts her foot in it. (Continued in next chapter!) 
> 
> cw: ignorance about aro relationships/amatonormativity

Crowley had always liked children. They were honest and undeniably chaotic. Much better company than adult humans, that's for sure.  


Aziraphale liked them, too. He liked all of Her creations. That didn't mean he knew how to handle them. They were sticky and questioning and not bound by social pleasantries. It was difficult for him to relate and understand. 

And yet, here they were. Back in Tadfield on the way to Adam’s thirteenth birthday party. 

Crowley pulled up to the edge of the field and stopped the car. They both got out and Aziraphale sighed deeply as he caught sight of the growing crowd. 

“I immediately regret this decision,” he muttered, more to himself than Crowley. 

Crowley grinned. “Come on, angel. Will be fun, yeah?” 

Aziraphale grimaced. 

They walked hand in hand over to the party. The warmth of Crowley’s hand in his own was comforting, but Aziraphale didn’t know if it would be enough. 

“Aziraphale! AJ!” yelled Anathema as they approached. Aziraphale turned to his friend and mouthed “AJ?” with a frown. Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“Hullo, book girl.” 

“Ah, yes, hello,” Aziraphale said absentmindedly. He was distracted by Adam and his friends running around playing some strange game. 

Anathema and Crowley fell into conversation as Aziraphale people-watched. Parents were standing in groups around the field while the children entertained themselves. There was an intriguing table decorated with various foodstuffs that he hoped he would be able to sample soon. 

As Aziraphale adjusted to the new environment he tuned back into the conversation.

“So you two are finally together, then?” Anathema asked. 

Crowley squeezed his hand. “Nah, we’re friends.” 

She gaze their hands a pointed look. “ _ Just _ friends?” 

Something deflated inside of Aziraphale. He shook off Crowley’s grip and paced over to the car without excusing himself. He  _ knew  _ he shouldn’t have come. It was one thing to stop the end of the world together but that didn’t mean people would understand you. 

The Bentley wouldn’t open for him, of course. Not even after all these years. He wanted to get away and she wouldn’t trust him driving. He sighed again, full of doubt and anxiety. 

“Angel?” Crowley asked quietly. Aziraphale startled as he hadn’t even heard the demon approach. And he usually was quite noisy about that kind of thing. 

Aziraphale waved him off as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Alright.” Crowley leaned on the car next to Aziraphale, not touching him. Like he had all the time in the world. That there was no other place to be. 

After a few moments Aziraphale settled. He could still faintly here the party going on but it faded into comfortable background noise. His defenses came crashing down. 

He slid the short distance to feel Crowley pressed against his side then turned and stepped to lean against his front. Crowley’s arms automatically came up to hold Aziraphale as he buried his face in Crowley’s neck. 

The words didn’t need to be said. They had been said already. That there wasn’t a “just”, that they were totally committed to each other, why couldn’t people understand? Aziraphale breathed in the comforting scent of Crowley as he began to relax. Here, he was safe.  


“You wanna get out of here, angel?” Crowley murmured. He didn’t mention that Anathema had apologised, or that Adam wanted to see his uncle because he had some book related questions, or that the cake was lemon and blueberry. It would be Aziraphale’s decision. 

Aziraphale pulled back to look at Crowley. He gave a weak smile. 

“No, no,” he shook his head. “I think I’m fine, now. Let’s return.” 

Crowley studied him for a moment to ensure that he wasn’t putting himself through more hurt because of his angelic sense of obligation. 

“Okay. You want my hand, or…?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “I think your arm, for now.” 

Aziraphale wrapped a perfectly manicured hand around Crowley’s proffered arm and they ambled back to the party together. 


	7. I'm just tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate continuation of the previous chapter. The pair return to the party. Anathema offers an apology.

Anathema looked like she wanted to approach the pair but a firm glare from Crowley stopped her in her tracks. Instead, Crowley guided them over to the refreshments table. If there ever was a time for sweets, it was now. 

Aziraphale started on his second biscuit when the children bounded up to them. 

“Thanks for coming, Aziraphale!” “Hi Uncle Crowley!” “Did Anathema put a spell on you?” “Yeah, is that why you went away for a bit?” 

They all spoke at once and over each other. Aziraphale counted to ten in his head. 

“I’m just tired, child,” Aziraphale said in the group’s general direction to whoever had asked that. It wasn’t an exact lie. He just didn’t specify what he was tired of. 

The kids looked among themselves like they didn’t believe that for a minute. 

“Happy birthday, kid,” Crowley said abruptly as he pulled a wrapped gift from who-knows-where. He hadn’t been holding it a moment before but the attention needed to be off Aziraphale.   


Adam took the bait. “Thanks,” he said, and went to put it with the other gifts. The Them trailed off behind him, with Pepper giving the pair one last look before following her friends. Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. 

The party was strange but suited Aziraphale. The children kept to themselves, as did the rest of the adults. He got to stay with Crowley and pick his way through the refreshments. 

They all gathered to sing and cut the cake. Crowley and Aziraphale stayed towards the back of the crowd, still weary from earlier. Crowley watched the angel subtly to ensure he was doing okay after everything. He seemed to be doing better, especially when he dug into the cake. 

The crowd dispersed again though Anathema lingered nearby. She and Crowley had a silent conversation which ended with him nodding and her approaching. 

“Aziraphale I just wanted to apologise to you directly. I made some assumptions about you and Crowley’s relationship and not only were they wrong, but they were hurtful. I’m sorry,” she said. 

“You’re forgiven, my dear. I am, ah, unfortunately used to that kind of thing,” Aziraphale replied with a strained smile. 

“You shouldn’t be,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale patted his arm. 

“Nevertheless, my dear. Now, I think we’re done for the day, yes?” He put his plate to the side and gave Crowley a hopeful look. 

“Right you are, angel. Bye, book girl,” he said dismissively.

Aziraphale gave a wave and they left. He could chalk up their French exit to not understanding human customs. 


	8. I've got you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous two chapters. They get back to London and Crowley is hurting. 
> 
> cw: referenced use of alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started my new job y'all and capitalism is a nightmare. Also this prompt really reminded me of that one scene from ODAAT, yknow? 
> 
> I'm sad and lonely, talk to me in the comments

The drive back to London went quickly. Crowley sped more than he usually did and both were lost in thought. 

The Bentley slammed to a stop outside the bookshop. Crowley stalked inside without a look back. Tension rolled off him and Aziraphale hurried along behind. 

When he entered Crowley was nowhere to be seen. Aziraphale could hear him, though, clinking bottles in the back. That wasn’t a good sign. 

Aziraphale got there just in time. Crowley was comparing two bottles of scotch and began to open the second when Aziraphale rounded the corner. 

“Crowley?” 

The loosened cap flew out of Crowley’s hand as he startled at the sudden noise. He reached out to catch it, although he was far too late and ended up with an arm awkwardly thrown out by his side. 

“Oh. Hey, angel,” he said casually. Aziraphale saw that his hands were shaking. 

“Would you sit with me, my dear?” He moved slowly to the awaiting sofa. Crowley looked between him and the bottle in his hand, then back to Aziraphale. He jerkily nodded and put the bottle down on the table. 

Usually Crowley sprawled on any available surface, including Aziraphale. His long limbs weren’t meant for sitting up straight. But here he was - not even touching the angel - legs pressed tight together and hands wedged in his lap. Aziraphale wasn’t going to push him and he was very glad he had put down the bottle. But it was still quite concerning. 

Crowley didn’t like talking about his feelings. Aziraphale didn’t want to push him. The demon had rushed to his defense at the party but it was undeniable that the words had affected him, too. How could they not? 

Aziraphale placed his hand in the middle of the sofa, in between them both. It was an offering, not a demand. He would wait forever if he had to. Crowley looked down and considered it for a moment. 

He took it, carefully, as if it would be ripped away from him. When Aziraphale gently squeezed back he let out a shaky breath. 

“I’ve got you, my dear. I won’t let go.” 


	9. Is that my shirt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale share a morning after. 
> 
> cw: sex implied and discussion of sexual attraction, tiniest mention of past/future dysphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is fat and aromantic and ~ace spectrum~ so like, I'm writing what I know here

It didn’t happen as often as people thought. People made ridiculous assumptions, anyway. It was about release and satisfaction and intimacy. 

Attraction was a factor, a small one, but there all the same. Crowley varied with it more than Aziraphale. It was such a human thing, sometimes. And sometimes sex was just too human for him to stomach. 

On the other hand, it was well established that Aziraphale liked all things human. Even when he wasn’t, as he put it, _"i_ _ n the mood"  _ he thought it was a delightful way to be close to Crowley. 

They had spent the night together. No rose petals or soft lighting or lingering kisses necessary. They spoke in their regular voices and were their regular (bastard) selves. 

Morning came. Crowley sprawled against the sheets with his head shoved into a pillow. Aziraphale had slipped out without notice to grab a spot of tea. Crowley just began to stir when he returned, tray carried by his thick hands.

Crowley blinked open one eye and took in the view. 

“Good morning, my dear,” Aziraphale warmly greeted. He put the tray down on the bedside and climbed back into bed. 

Next to him Crowley rolled over to cling to Aziraphale’s unusually bare thigh. Crowley looked up and up, both eyes open now. 

“Is that my shirt?” 

Grey fabric was stretched deliciously around Aziraphale’s torso. On Crowley the shirt was big. He had bought it that way on purpose, both because it was the last one available and in case of days where his dysphoria was bad. Comfy shirts were very important. 

On the angel though it clung to every single one of his beautiful curves. The text was distorted slightly but Crowley could still read its large letters. Aziraphale’s chest now proclaimed “Why fall in love when you can fall asleep?” in the colours of the aromantic flag. 

Aziraphale seemed to be suddenly very interested in his cup of tea. “Hmm?” 

Crowley sat up. “I  _ said,  _ is that my shirt?” he asked with indignation. He wasn’t actually that upset - how could he be, when sharing a bed with such a vision? But his shirt  _ was  _ getting stretched and if the Aziraphale was allowed to get fussy about  _ his _ clothing, Crowley thought it was only fair. 

“I’d rather think of it as our shirt, dearest,” he said mischievously. Over the top of his teacup Aziraphale smiled. 

“Aaaaaangel,” Crowley groaned, and launched himself at Aziraphale. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shirt is real and available from Look Human


	10. I'll walk you home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft bit of physical affection, really.

A new fusion restaurant had opened two blocks down from Aziraphale’s shop. Crowley would have thought it was too hipster for the angel’s taste but well, here they were. After their starter Aziraphale declared the food “scrumptious” and that was that (although the decor left a lot to be desired, in Crowley's opinion). The pair enjoyed the meal as they always did - warm with each other’s company and conversation. 

Aziraphale got the bill this time, though it didn’t particularly matter to either of them. As long as the hardworking humans in the service industry got paid it was fine. They shrugged on their coats and stepped outside. 

“I’ll walk you home, angel,” Crowley murmured. 

Aziraphale smiled at him in that incredibly soft way of his. “Thank you.” He hesitated for a moment as they stood outside the door. 

Crowley just looked at him. “What is it?” 

The frank tone meant Aziraphale broke the gaze and stared into the street. A pained expression crossed his face. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. 

“Wouldyouliketoholdhands?” he blurted out breathlessly. Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprise. They had never been much for touching, before. 

“Do  _ you _ want to hold hands?” he asked back. Aziraphale fiddled nervously with his coat buttons and glanced over to see if he was being mocked. He wasn’t. 

“Yes.” 

All Crowley could do was shrug. Whatever the angel wanted, he would get. “Sure thing, angel,” Crowley said as he slipped their hands together. “Home?” 

Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. At the acceptance, at the much-needed and constantly-craved touch. “Home,” he agreed with a smile. 


	11. Wow, you look...amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale switches up his presentation. A few gender feels, but mostly non-binary beings just living their lives. 
> 
> A/N: they/them pronouns for Crowley in this one. Aziraphale's corporation is adjusted slightly to be more butch and has a larger chest as a result, still he/him, only the word chest is used (inspired by some of the amazing butch Aziraphale art I've been seeing lately). Also, I've written any kind of feelings here as strong aesthetic/platonic attraction as per my experience as an ace spec person. 
> 
> vest = tank top/undershirt = singlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late Solstice, mid Hanukkah, early Christmas, or a joyful December to you. Here's a longer drabble as a present, thanks to MagicMar's lovely comment on the last chapter. Enjoy!

Aziraphale had spent the better part of six thousand years excusing his indulgences, vices, and hobbies with various justifications. Their strength had waned over time but the angel’s explanations always became more elaborate after any run-ins with his coworkers. But now they were free. And now they were here. And now, the angel was bored. 

Not in general, of course. It was like life itself had opened up to him since they stopped the end of the world. And not with Crowley. Never with Crowley. But with himself - or more accurately, his corporation and the dressings thereof. 

Aziraphale's appearance had always been much stable than that of his companion’s. Most angels’ were - only shifting slightly with fashions through the centuries, some not even that much. Aziraphale knew what he liked (was used to, was comfortable with) and that was that, really. 

Crowley was an ever-shifting creature. Everything from their hair and clothes, to their pronouns, to their gender, to even their name. How much they changed had become an actual constant in Aziraphale’s life. Aziraphale had loved them in all forms with everything in him. He didn’t truly relate to their need or want to switch things up. In truth, Aziraphale didn’t let himself consider it as an option. Now, he could. 

So there he was in the bedroom surrounded by a number of large mirrors, shedding miracles like they were nothing. He started with the clothes. They were the easiest to call up, after centuries of cataloguing human fashion. Aziraphale began with some old favourites he hadn’t brought out in a long while. Different cuts of coats and width of trousers, skirts and dresses. He left shoes alone, for now. It would be too much fuss even with miracles. 

None of the clothing felt right. Perhaps it was his corporation? Aziraphale finished with the historical outfits, returning some to his wardrobe and the rest to unexistence. He stripped off his upper layers to better see his form. Bow-tie, jacket and shirt were all taken off, which left him in trousers and a vest. For once he was wearing suspenders. Those, at least, suited the whole get-up. 

A solid tread upon the stairs up towards the bedroom.  


“Angel?” 

Aziraphale turned and could see Crowley’s shadow hesitating outside the doorway. 

“Oh! Come in, my dear.” 

The door creaked open and Crowley entered, obviously surprised at Aziraphale’s state of undress. They threw a hand over their face. 

“Aziraphale! You’re practically nude!” they cackled and leaned against the wall to support their uproarious laughter. “Absolutely scandalous!” 

Aziraphale put his hands on his hips. “Are you done, Crowley?” 

They let their hand drop and chuckled. “Sure. For now, anyway. What’s up?” 

The angel sighed. “I’ve grown tired of how I look so I was seeing about changing it. With little success, so far,” he said glumly. Aziraphale turned back to the mirror and inspected himself. 

Crowley walked up behind him. Their eyes met in the reflection and they lifted their arms up and around Aziraphale’s soft middle. 

“Well  _ I’m  _ a big fan of your corporation, ‘course, but if you wanna switch it up feel free. What’ve you tried so far?” 

Aziraphale leaned into the warm embrace and closed his eyes. “Far too many clothes, I believe,” he said with a sigh. “I was going to move on to my form next. What do you think?” 

“May I?” 

Aziraphale looked at where Crowley’s hand was now held out in front of them both. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but nodded all the same. “Be my guest.” 

They stood back a little to look at him properly, hands raised like the creator they once were. It tingled where their magic touched him but above all it felt comforting. Like the warmth of the sun. Only a few moments, only a few adjustments and they were done. 

Behind Aziraphale, Crowley bit their lip nervously. Messing with someone’s body was a big deal, and the angel had put an awful lot of trust in them. They really hoped he liked it. 

It was obvious to see what Crowley had done. After six thousand years in more-or-less the same vessel even a slight change was unmistakable. 

His thighs were even thicker, now. He knew Crowley had an appreciation for them but, well. Aziraphale hadn’t known quite how much. His hips, too, were wider; the flesh around them softer. In fact, his whole body felt imperceptibly softer. His centre of gravity had also shifted as he now sported a decently sized chest. It protruded out from him and dragged the vest up and away from his belly allowing just a hint of smooth pink flesh to be seen. In the middle was a soft waist, just a slight dip in then out again.   


Aziraphale’s face was also slightly rounded, his jawline less defined. The rest was the same - his hair, his hands, his eyes. He smiled at the reflection of Crowley in the mirror then turned round to smile at them proper. 

The pair were still standing quite close together, close enough to feel each other’s heat. 

“Wow, angel. You look… amazing,” Crowley blushed down at Aziraphale. 

“You really think so? Oh, darling, you’ve done ever-so well. I do believe that this was just the ticket I was searching for.  _ Thank  _ you,” he beamed and threw his arms around Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley squeezed back. “Y’r welcome. Let me know if you want to change anything else. Pronouns, whatever,” they said in what they hoped was a casual manner. 

Aziraphale smiled into Crowley's shoulder. “Of course, Crowley. You’ll be the first to know.” 


	12. Can I kiss you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a question for Crowley. 
> 
> cw discussion of kissing, I guess. nothing happens and it's not at all in depth. 
> 
> A/N: she/her for Crowley in this one because I felt like it. (Also trying to make up for my lack of non-binary rep in fic even though I'm nb.) skirting quite close to my own trauma in this one but what can I say, I like living dangerously.

Aziraphale hadn’t been paying attention to any of the moves he had been making for at least the past fifteen minutes. The pair were playing chess, for some reason. Crowley said it had been far too long since they had played and had unearthed an ancient board from around when the game had been first invented. 

So there they were in the late afternoon, verging on night, and Aziraphale was spectacularly losing. Crowley didn’t even need to use any miracles or anything. Aziraphale was just not paying attention. Not to the game at least. 

He was staring at Crowley. Not even subtly, either. He barely glanced down at the board to make an absentminded move before his gaze returned up and across towards his companion. 

Crowley figured she didn’t have something on her face. That wouldn’t require such prolonged eye contact. But she couldn’t work out what Aziraphale was thinking - whether he wanted something or had some big announcement - anything was possible. 

After Crowley successfully declared a third checkmate in a row she was done. 

“Out with it, angel. Come on, I know my lipstick is dramatic but I didn’t think I had fucked it up that much.” 

Aziraphale blushed. “No, ah, no. Not at all, my dear.” 

It was Crowley’s turn to stare, now. 

“So what is it?” 

A small sigh left Aziraphale and he looked away, breaking the gaze the pair had been holding. 

“It’s rather embarrassing,” he admitted. 

Crowley just rolled her eyes and waited. 

Aziraphale sighed again and his blue eyes flicked back to Crowley. 

“It’s only, well. Can I kiss you?” 

“Not on the mouth,” she blurted out before her mind caught up with her tongue.  _ That  _ is what the angel had been thinking about this whole time. 

Aziraphale seemed to deflate before her very eyes. “Oh. I knew it was rather foolish of me to even entertain- nevermind that, now. Forget I mentioned anything.” 

Crowley held back her own sigh. She never thought she would have to articulate this to anyone but, well. 

_ “Why  _ do you want to, angel?” she asked in what she hoped wasn’t too harsh a tone. 

“I, ah, thought it would be… nice,” he offered as he studied the wallpaper behind her head. 

That caused Crowley to let out a snort. “Lots of things are ‘nice’, angel. Doesn’t mean we have to go around doing them. Golfing, apparently, is nice to lots of people but you won’t catch me ever swinging a club.” 

“I see.” 

Here comes the hard part. “‘sides, it’s not a ‘let me tempt you to oysters, Crowley’ situation. I know what I like, Aziraphale, and I don’t like mouth kissing. ‘s not good, no matter who it is. You may be exceptional in any other case but not this.” 

Some of the tension seemed to leave Aziraphale’s body when he realised he, personally, wasn’t being rejected. 

“That makes perfect sense,” he nodded. “Thank you for sharing, my dear. I do hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.” 

Crowley waved him off. “Nah, you’re fine, angel.” 

There was that beautiful smile again. “Oh good. So the cheek would be fine, then?” 

She bit her lip as she imagined it. No matter what she told herself she still craved affection. “Hnnngh, yeah, sure.” 

With a snap, Aziraphale reset the board. “Excellent.” 


	13. I'm not drunk enough for this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's movie night and Aziraphale has picked an old favourite of his, but Crowley seems uncomfortable. Discussion and cuddles ensue. 
> 
> cw: tiniest mention of alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism (as per the title), mentions of romantic attraction/relationships/ideas occurring in the film, small bit of internalised amatonormativity from Crowley
> 
> A/N: headcanoning Aziraphale as WTFromantic in this one because I feel like it's true in my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to crush my impostor syndrome by just WRITING MORE. idk if it's working. also, maybe you've picked up a theme from my last few chapters. I wonder what I could be possibly working through.... 
> 
> silly announcement at the end! (pretty romo so feel free to skip)

It was Aziraphale’s turn to pick the film. Crowley didn’t actually mind, per say, as the angel did usually choose something that both of them would enjoy. Or at least, something Crowley wouldn’t grumble at too much. 

But Aziraphale did tend to have more of an… old-fashioned taste. I mean, just look at him. Theatre and opera and plays. “Classic” entertainment, apparently. That was his speed and he liked to stick to it. 

So when he pressed play on the remote and an orchestral overture began, Crowley didn’t think much of it. He had enjoyed musicals in the past and he liked pointing out things that bent (or broke) the Hays Code. It made Aziraphale’s ears turn a wonderful shade of pink. 

The opening tune was decent enough, if a little saccharine. But then started the discussions of weddings and love and ex-spouses. 

His groans of complaint grew louder, Aziraphale side-eyeing him all the while. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Crowley muttered into his glass as someone on screen waxed poetic about a George. As Crowley took another generous sip of red the film suddenly stopped 

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear. I didn’t think. Do you need me to switch it off?” And he meant every word of it, the bastard. 

Crowley sighed and plucked off his glasses. “Nah, angel,” he waved Aziraphale off. “You know me - ‘m a demon, I have to complain.” 

“If you truly are uncomfortable, Crowley, you have to tell me. Please.” Aziraphale’s eyes were incredibly wide and earnest. 

Crowley slumped against the back of the sofa. “I’m fine, Aziraphale. You’re not…  _ offending  _ me, or something. Jus’ don’t think it’s my kind of film, is all. Doesn’t mean you have to stop watching.” 

A contemplative look crossed Aziraphale’s face. “Alright. Do let me know if that changes.” 

Crowley nodded in reply but Aziraphale still didn’t restart the film. 

“Would you hold me, Crowley?” Aziraphale said, more to Crowley’s collarbone than Crowley himself. His voice had turned small and soft. 

Crowley put down his glass. “Course, angel. Always. Come here,” he shifted to sit against the arm of the sofa and opened his arms. 

A warm smile bloomed on Aziraphale’s face, as if he were afraid that he would be rejected, as if he never thought he would be  _ allowed.  _ That wouldn’t do at all, Crowley thought to himself. 

Aziraphale shuffled over - slowly, carefully - to fit his back against Crowley’s front. He wiggled in delight and pressed them flush together. Crowley’s right arm remained along the back of the sofa. He had to try to maintain his cool, casual image somehow. The other came down to wrap around Aziraphale who let out a happy sigh at the contact.  It helped, to have Aziraphale there. It reminded Crowley that he wasn’t watching the film with someone who didn’t know him, with someone who thought he was like everyone else. This was  _ Aziraphale _ , who just wanted to watch one of his favourites with his best friend. As the film continued playing he relaxed into the embrace and just let himself have this. A former (perhaps defunct) angel and and demon sharing a cuddle as Bing Crosby crooned in the background. Well, did you ever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The film Aziraphale and Crowley are watching is _High Society _, a film I'm writing an AU of in the upcoming Good Omens Rom Com event! Even though I'm Very Aromantic I adore rom coms and I'm so incredibly excited to be taking part. You can find all the info at goromcom.tumblr.com and claims are still open at the time of posting this.__
> 
> __ik it's probably v silly of me announcing this in my aro collection, but it's the first fic I've updated since I got my assignment, so_ _


	14. Regency AU (excerpt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (beginning of the) tale of how Misters Crowley and Fell became engaged. 
> 
> _In this, Aziraphale is aromantic but is very happy to be in a 'romantic' relationship (cupioromantic). Obviously if he had modern language it would be a qpr but y'know, there's limits. There isn't period typical homophobia in this 'verse but there is still amatonormativity and the like including insecurity on Aziraphale's part. I think it's fairly minor and Crowley loves him so much. Tiniest of mentions of being allosexual as 'normal', which is obviously false._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a drabble but became far too long. No prompt this time, just my brain doing weird and wonderful things.
> 
> Check out the full story, _Unchanged Affections_ , here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108720>

On the surface it appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a love match. Misters Crowley and Fell has grown up alongside each other and, several years after their respective debuts, came together in another way. Oh, how some of the townsfolk swooned. It was a novel-worthy story and a dream of many young persons come true.

Azira had for some years seemed intended for the Church. His whole family were particularly devout and as the third son it was a decent enough occupation. He, too, thought that might be his calling, and dedicated many of his hours to studying as was appropriate for one in his position. But even the happiest of vicars had a certain air of judgement and shame about them in turn that put Azira off. The less said about the sour vicars, the better.

After some prodding by his companion Azira realised that he enjoyed good drink and food and company and reading (not just of the good book) too much to dedicate himself to that holy pursuit. It would not be fair to any of the parties involved, least of all himself. He was left to return to contemplation of his uncertain future.

Crowley, in turn, just did exactly as he liked, always. His inheritance had guaranteed that and with his relations being out of the picture (parents dead, uncle a gambler, each sort of second-cousin and twice-removed worse than the last) he was left to do what he wanted. He was the Lord of his estate and conducted himself as such. It was large, with decent enough grounds and fertile soil. The garden, of course, was immaculate. Crowley would not allow anything less.

He had garnered a reputation over the years due to his frivolity and indulgence of himself and his companion by frequent trivial purchases. It was quite the ruse to keep money-seeking leeches at bay. Crowley did indeed manage his money well and had few needs and wants unsatisfied. Despite his excellent relationship with the staff and frequent visits with Azira, the large house was too much for a single man.

Therefore when Gabriel became occupied with climbing up the ranks of the church, Michael had married one of Crowley’s dreaded cousins and moved counties, and Azira had begun to mope about his lack of future and prospects, Crowley had the solution.

“Marry me!”

Azira turned from where he had been admiring the river. “What did you just say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the rest of the story, _Unchanged Affections_ , here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108720>


	15. Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has discovered that a very exciting event is happening soon. Aziraphale is amused.

“Oi, angel, did you know about this?” Crowley asked as they shoved their phone in front of Aziraphale’s face. 

He sighed and looked up from the book he had been reading. 

Aziraphale hummed as he glanced at the post on screen. “Yes,” he replied, and promptly returned to his book. 

Crowley shifted ever closer. “ _ Angel, _ ” they groaned, annoyed at the lack of attention. 

Aziraphale sighed again though he had a small smile on his face and put the book aside. 

Crowley wasted no time at all and flung themself down across the now empty lap. They looked up at their partner, ridiculous glasses perched on the end of his imperfect nose, and pouted. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

A soft hand found its way into Crowley’s hair and started petting on instinct as Aziraphale considered the question. 

“Dear, I have heard about it but I hardly think about it. Why celebrate only seven days of our relationship when I could celebrate them all?”

They rolled their eyes at that soppy nonsense. “But  _ Aromantic Awareness Week!  _ What a name! What a week! All celebrating us, can you believe it?” 

“I don’t think the week is  _ just  _ for us, Crowley-” 

“Seven days of no romo fun! We  _ have  _ do something,” they declared. 

Aziraphale chuckled fondly and continued stroking Crowley’s hair as they smiled a proud grin up at him.  


“Yes, dear." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost that time of year again - Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week! I've seen two sets of dates floating around from the 16th or the 17th. TBH I say earlier the better, but do whatever makes you happy. I've only seen one fandom event so far - https://itsthearoway.tumblr.com but celebrate in anyway you like! 
> 
> I would say I'm going to try to post more in the lead up/during the week, but life is far too hectic for me to promise something like that lol. We'll see!


	16. I’m right here, okay? / No one’s going to hurt you. / None of this is your fault.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up in the middle of the night to find Aziraphale gone from their bedroom. Aziraphale thinks he is going to have a Bad Day. Emotional hurt/comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, I haven't abandoned this fic! just work got a Lot and then I got Redundant and now I'm Very Mentally Ill in isolation. that being said, feel free to shoot me some prompts etc. otherwise I'll keep working through that prompt list whenever I feel like it. 
> 
> cw: Crowley briefly thinks Aziraphale might be gone in a more serious sense, but that is quickly proven wrong. minor discussion of both Crowley and Aziraphale being mentally ill/at least having a lot of symptoms because of *gestures* all of that. The focus is mostly on them in a very sweet QPR and being soft. 
> 
> Also the bedroom is heavily inspired by the last pic on this post https://ineffable-anathema.tumblr.com/post/187568350181/khadij-al-kubra-kaenith-kaenith-noticed

The lovely dream Crowley had been having about warm, sunbaked rocks faded into the dark of the room. He had woken up. That was obvious. The reason remained unclear. 

He flipped over to glance at the other bed in the room, where Aziraphale usually stayed. He still didn’t care for sleeping that much—no matter how soft the sheets were—but he did promise to keep Crowley company. It had been one of the many, many discussions they had had in the past few months about their relationship. Crowley protested all the while but he was secretly relieved. Besides the embarrassment of talking about his feelings, there really were only benefits for Crowley. 

But Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen in the room. 

Crowley listened for a moment. Sometimes he bustled about in other nearby parts of the cottage—making tea, getting another book—and was easy to hear over the quiet of the night. Crowley couldn’t hear him and flung off the sheets. It seemed he had to find a missing angel. 

He tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach. There was no point worrying when Aziraphale had probably sat down distracted with a volume and failed to return upstairs. Crowley had known him to collect dust on more than one occasion. It was still a work in progress for him to remain in their bedroom all night. 

It was short work for Crowley to check the rooms on their level before making his way down the stairs. 

He checked the living room first, since it was only around the corner from the bottom of the stairs. 

Crowley let out a sigh of relief as he saw Aziraphale curled up on the sofa, lit only by the small Tiffany lamp by his elbow. A still-full mug sat next to it on the end table. 

“Angel?” He asked and moved to sit down next to him. 

Aziraphale startled, eyes frantic in the dark at the sudden sound. Crowley waved the lights on to a soft glow and took a slow step closer. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale said with a nervous laugh. “It’s you, Crowley. Goodness, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to you seeing in the dark.” 

Crowley settled next to the angel at the other end of the sofa with a small smile, giving him the space that he might need. Up close it was clear Aziraphale was worried about something. He had that pinched expression and frown that meant something was on his mind.

“Something tells me you didn’t get out of bed just to let your tea go cold, angel. What’s wrong?” Crowley asked gently. 

The frown deepened as Aziraphale thought it over. Crowley gave him all the time he needed. 

Eventually he let out a sigh and announced with a slight glance to Crowley: “I think it’s going to be a Bad Day.” 

The capitals were heavily implied, though Crowley could read them clear as anything in his head. Bad days were how they had come to describe the combination of anxiety, trauma, depression or just good old fashioned sadness that could strike them at any moment. It meant softness and copious amounts of tea and usually cuddles. It also meant reassurance and ultimately comfort, that the things said in one’s head weren’t true. That they both were safe.

“I’m right here, okay, angel?” Crowley leaned closer to Aziraphale, one hand stretched on the tartan sofa, but still didn’t touch him. He waited until Aziraphale turned to him. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re both here in our cottage, safe as houses, alright?” 

Aziraphale nodded a little disbelievingly and took Crowley’s hand like it would be pulled away at any moment. 

“No one’s going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m here, and we’re both safe.” He gave the warm hand in his a squeeze. 

Another nod, a little more cognizant. “Would you perhaps come closer, my dear?” he said in a soft, small voice. 

“Of course, angel,” Crowley replied, equally as soft. 

He moved far more slowly than he usually would, to give Aziraphale plenty of time to take back his request. He didn’t and Crowley even more carefully wrapped his arms around his angel. 

After a bit of shifting, Aziraphale was on Crowley’s lap, cradled between his chest and the corner of the sofa. He sniffled softly into Crowley’s neck as he pressed closer. 

Crowley brushed a kiss over Aziraphale’s hair, thankful this was all it was. A bad day they could weather together. They would weather together. This one, and all the bad days to come. 

“None of this is your fault,” Crowley reassured. Aziraphale’s habits of negative self-talk had come out in drips and drabs. Crowley felt like a mind-reader because of it, sometimes, but it needed to be said aloud all the same. 

“None of this is your fault, angel. You’re good just as you are.”


	17. Come here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale really likes how Crowley looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tangentially inspired by ZehWulf's [In Any Way, Shape, or Form](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359714) and 5ftjewishcactus' [he likes it rough (but not like that)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868941). both fics feature ace not aro relationships, but explore attraction in ways that are relevant to this chapter. also, I just really like them both! 
> 
> cw: intense aesthetic attraction/sensual attraction. the ending kind of seems like they're going to bone town but that's not how I wrote it (if you read ZehWulf's works you will probably understand better where I'm coming from)

Aziraphale was lucky. That’s what he thought when he saw Crowley saunter into the bookshop. He was in the middle of talking to a regular—not a customer, thank Someone—but was immediately distracted by his gorgeous partner walking in. Crowley simply gave a casual wave and wandered over to a nearby shelf. 

Fortunately for him, the regular needed little engagement as they recounted a long winded story about something or other. That meant Aziraphale was free to look. 

Crowley stood across the way, lean and long, only accentuated by their floor-length dress. It was heavy—Aziraphale could tell despite the distance. Heavy fabric. Expensive. It moved like cool water around their form and Aziraphale knew it would feel much the same. It was black, of course. Black as coal. The style was plainer than what Crowley usually tended to favour. A simple silhouette clinging to every faint curve of theirs. Their bony hips. Their flat chest. 

It was backless. It took a lot for Aziraphale to stand there with the regular, giving pleasant smiles and small sounds of agreement, while Crowley shifted and swayed just out of reach. Their hair was long, draped over the pale, exposed skin left bare by the low-cut. Solid fire against the dark fabric. 

They turned for a few moments, here and there, under the pretense of reaching for another title on the shelf. Aziraphale was greeted by a flash of red lipstick, curved into a small smirk. 

The regular finished, thanking him for listening and jogging out the door. Aziraphale barely noticed them go. All he cared about was that they were alone in the shop. 

He waited a minute, to see who would make the first move. Crowley continued on like they really were browsing the books instead of driving Aziraphale wild. 

“Come here,” Aziraphale finally requested. Crowley slid the book they had been holding back into place and stalked over, the dress swinging softly around them. 

They stopped in front of him with a quirk of their lip. “Hi, angel.” 

“Hello, you… _tempter._ ”

That caused Crowley to grin. “Tempter? Who, me?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest on their shoulders after he removed their glasses. Thank goodness they were only wearing flat boots today. “My dear, you know perfectly well what you do to me in something like this.” 

“You see something you like?” They teased. 

Aziraphale let his hands slowly slide down Crowley’s sides. To stop the awkward strain on his arms he stepped right into their space, marvelling at the feel of the fabric under his palms. 

“‘Like’ does not even begin to cover it,” he murmured before kissing their neck lightly. 

Crowley gave a pleased hum and draped their arms over Aziraphale’s back. With a flick of their hand the shop’s sign turned to closed. 

Aziraphale continued his ministrations, his thumbs rubbed at their waist as he dotted kisses all over their neck and jaw. 

“You’re lovely, darling. Beautiful.”

“Flatterer.” 

Aziraphale stepped back to look at them. Despite their cocky tone they were blushing, clear as day. He chose not to comment on it, simply brushing a kiss along their warm, pink cheek. 

“I can flatter you even more upstairs.” 


	18. Are you okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds Aziraphale dealing with an anxious day. H/C
> 
> cw: very vaguely implied misogyny from OC, anxious thoughts/general insecurity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is fic for if not projecting? my anxiety has been really bad recently and I miss my friends :( also I got super annoyed with the lack of aro rep last night so I felt like writing something for this non-abandoned fic. 
> 
> if anyone has prompts feel free to drop them below I would love some external motivation lmao. take care y'all <3

“Angel?” The bell above Crowley’s head rang as she called out to her friend. 

“Oh. I’m back here, Crowley.”

She made her way over to Aziraphale’s voice, which clearly came from the back sitting room. 

Crowley was excited to regale her with the stories of her day’s mischief until she turned the corner. 

Aziraphale was slumped in her usual chair, cup of tea by her side, as she nervously wrung her hands together. Best to proceed with caution, then. 

“Hey, Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly as she sat on the sofa opposite. “What’s up?” 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale turned her head in acknowledgement but her eyes were trained on something in the distance. 

“Are you okay? You seem a little...” Crowley twitched her hand in the air in lieu of a specific phrase. 

It took a minute for Aziraphale to register the question. “Oh.” 

She scrubbed a hand over her face and looked at Crowley with a tight smile. “It’s nothing, my dear. Truly. Just some vague unpleasantness.” 

Crowley frowned at that. If it was that minor, Aziraphale wouldn’t be acting like this. “It matters if it bothered you, though.” 

Aziraphale sighed and looked away again, one hand automatically coming to rub at the bottom of her waistcoat. 

“A customer was in earlier. Very rude, came in loudly talking on the phone. I think it was to get out of the rain but nevertheless. He wandered down one aisle, clearly not intent on browsing at all, mind you,” she berated. “And, well, the nature of the conversation didn’t appear particularly kind. Insulting, in fact, the lady in question...”

Aziraphale’s gaze fell to her lap as she went silent. 

Crowley tried to hold in her curiosity at what must have happened to make Aziraphale like this. “Take your time, angel.”

After a few moments, she seemed to have collected herself, though her hand remained on her waistcoat. 

“You know how I usually conduct my business. Customers ejected promptly, rudeness not allowed, offensiveness not at all tolerated. But this afternoon I simply... couldn’t. Do any of that, that is.” Aziraphale appeared to further shrink into the chair. 

“I let the man finish his call and even smirk at me as he exited. And I felt absolutely awful. I feel awful,” she finished in a small voice. 

And didn’t Crowley’s demon-heart break at that? “Did he scare you, angel?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “Not exactly, my dear. You know that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But the idea of confronting him, for whatever reason, terrified me. Froze me right up. I feel quite foolish about the whole thing.” 

“You’re not responsible for saving everyone, you know. We already did that once.” 

She finally met Crowley’s gaze properly. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a shrug. “Still, I regret that I didn’t put my foot down. Nor did I do anything to assist the lady in question.”

That was ridiculous. “It’s not that you didn’t, angel.” Crowley leaned forward to be closer to her. “It’s that you couldn’t.” 

“But I-“ 

“We’ve talked about our anxiety, hmm?” Crowley gently reminded. 

They fell into silence as Aziraphale thought that over. After a while she spoke again. 

“Perhaps you’re right. I still feel awful, though.”

That now that wouldn’t do at all. No upset angel on Crowley’s watch. She got up from the sofa - gently, so she didn’t startle Aziraphale - and crouched down on the floor in front of her.

Crowley slowly slid off her glasses and folded them into her jacket pocket. “D’you want a hug?” 

A faint blush stained Aziraphale’s cheeks - they had both been getting better at asking for what they needed - but she nodded all the same. 

Crowley rose with snake-like fluidity into Aziraphale’s embrace. She slipped into her arms and, with encouragement, came to rest atop her lap. 


	19. Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular belief, the gavotte wasn’t the only dance a certain angel was capable of. [Cross-posted from Day 12 of my Femslash February drabble collection]
> 
> cw very vague allusions to arophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to cross-post my aro spec drabbles from the collection so they're easier to find. If you want to read the rest of the work, you can find that [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932258/chapters/70988139)

Contrary to popular belief, the gavotte wasn’t the only dance a certain angel was capable of.

It was certainly her favourite and she mourned the loss of it falling out of fashion til this very day, but one couldn’t possibly have survived among the humans so long without picking a move or two.

Even when she had been male-presenting and more often than not disguised herself as a member of the clergy, Aziraphale couldn’t opt out of the social obligation altogether. Particularly if she required information that only could be found through the time old-tradition of gossiping and rumour-mongering.

Yes, Aziraphale had danced many a dance during her stationing on earth. But as the years went on and decorum was on a decline, she found herself not enjoying the act as she once did. She preferred those of yesteryear, with instrumental music and known steps. Not surging together in a dark, sweaty room with people assuming a dance meant a certain kind of interest. Where a dance was an indication of desire.

As Aziraphale had come to find throughout her existence, and especially after they stopped the implosion of the world, Crowley was the exception to it all.

Crowley didn’t assume what Aziraphale felt. She didn’t construct a series of check-boxes in her mind that the angel was certain to fail. She was patient, and kind, and all the things she hated Aziraphale reminding her of. She waited and took only as much as Aziraphale was capable of giving. And it was enough for her.

So during their aptly if a little ridiculously named retirement, Aziraphale found herself dancing more than she ever had before.

She would come to deliver a glass of something sweet and cool to Crowley while she gardened and would be spun around on her journey back to the house.

As Aziraphale tried and failed and tried again to recreate her favourite dishes in their enormous kitchen, Crowley would latch on to her back and sway with her to the radio.

And when nights turned colder and Aziraphale wanted nothing more to be rugged up with her friend, they would hold one another close and dance in front of the fire. They barely moved their feet. The only music playing was in soft, barely-there hums. But they embraced. And Aziraphale was enough.


	20. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley knew what the village thought of them. [Cross-posted from Day 14 of my Femslash February drabble collection]
> 
> cw referenced amatanormativity

Crowley knew what the village thought of them. It was funny, how usually two presumably single women cohabitating together were never thought of in a romantic context. But there must have been something in the water here for everyone to assume that she and Aziraphale were married, when that wasn’t _quite_ the case.

If they distilled their relationship down to something comprehensible for human understanding sure, it might seem that way. Two middle-aged ladies who had known each other forever, sharing a life and a house (it wasn’t a cottage, no matter what Aziraphale told you), with a penchant for pet-names.

But neither of them were particularly inclined that way.

Yes, they both loved each other. They were each other’s “person”, to borrow a phrase from the young people. But romantic love and sexual attraction weren’t part of this equation.

It suited Crowley and Aziraphale perfectly.

Aziraphale was an angel, she didn’t _like_ to sleep. She was fussy and anxious and needed her space to read her books and be in quiet. Sharing a bed and all that entailed was nothing she would be comfortable with.

Crowley loved affection, yes, but she still had days where she couldn’t stand touch. Whether it reminded her of Downstairs or elsewhere or if she was in too much pain. The pressure, too, of trying to be someone she wasn’t filled her with a mild panic every time she thought Aziraphale might want something… different.

Her angel was quick to assure her that she was perfectly happy with how things were, thank you very much. She would kiss the top of Crowley’s head or give her a warm smile on days like that. Most importantly she was there, for all of their good and bad days.

They could do what they wanted to, now. They both spent a lot of time reminding the other that that was the case. So Crowley could want to cuddle and not share a bed and be called Aziraphale’s partner, not wife or girlfriend. They told one another of their love on occasion, but most of the time it didn’t need to be said. It was simply obvious.

And if Crowley wanted to grow Aziraphale roses because they made her happy, because they made her smile, because they made her say “oh, _Crowley”_ in that awe-filled soft voice of hers and fuss with wrapping her in a blanket and worrying about her joints in the cold?

Crowley was going to grow the roses, societal expectations be damned.


	21. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...your wife?”  
> Aziraphale blinked out of her stupor and dropped her hand from where she had been playing with her necklace. [Cross-posted from Day 24 of my Femslash February drabble collection]
> 
> cw light amatonormative assumptions

“...your wife?”

Aziraphale blinked out of her stupor and dropped her hand from where she had been playing with her necklace.

“Pardon me, I didn’t quite catch that last bit?”

June smiled at her and repeated the question. “I wondered where your wife was. It seems you too are attached at the hip, these days!”

“My wife?”

The smiled slipped. “Yes?” A look of horror crossed June’s face. “Oh dear, your spouse, is it? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“No, no, dear, it’s not _that._ Well. It is and it isn’t. Nevertheless, Crowley and I are not married.”

Whatever would have given her charge that impression?

June nervously picked at the fuzz on her jumper. “I mean, it’s all semantics these days anyway, abolishing institutions and all that jazz. What do you call each other, then?”

Aziraphale truly didn’t understand what the woman was implying. “Friends?”

June’s hand stopped. “But you live together.”

Oh. It was _that_ kind of confusion the human was operating under. It finally clicked in Aziraphale's mind. “Indeed. Much easier than her driving back and forth between Mayfair. Goodness, you should have seen her flat! My books make for a much better interior, I think.”

“But she calls you angel?”

Aziraphale smiled to herself. “Yes. An old nickname, one might say.”

June crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve seen you kiss! More than once! You don’t exactly hide being wrapped up in one another.

“You’ve certainly outdone yourself with observation, it seems.”

“Alright, what would _you_ call your relationship then? If you’re apparently _not_ married but you're so obviously committed to each other, what is it?”

The angel looked up and offered her a wry look. “I would say it’s rather… ineffable.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find all of my aromantic fics at this [link](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Aromantic&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=teatales)
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr @ineffable-anathema


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